Anoushka de Trieux: Moscow on Thames
by MoscowOnThames
Summary: When the Bolshoi's most promising ingenue falls foul of a society scandal, she mourns for her former life. Anoushka, once a star ballerina, turns to a mysterious benefactor whose seemingly limitless fortune enables her to reclaim her fame on the notorious Monaco party scene. Her grace, striking good looks and dark past makes her a prime candidate for Nikita's reformed Division...


As over a dozen nine-millimetre rounds scorched past Anoushka de Trieux's mane of auburn hair, she cursed silently under her breath and steadied her resolve. черт побери! Damn it! Anouk, as she had once been known to those whom she considered to be her friends and confidantes, grasped the handle of her Miu Miu Ayers shoulder bag even tighter and slung it further across her narrow shoulders. The deafening roar of gunfire was becoming even more apparent as she sprinted around the corner; the slugs that had been intended to bring her down embedded themselves into the lab's reinforced glass walls that shattered with the strain. Each round blossomed yet more and more shards of glass that pierced the sterile air like shrapnel.

The Beretta Px4 Storm Compact in Anouk's left hand shook violently, as she vaulted over one of the six lab benches that were situated in this; the eastern-most corner of the floor. She landed hard on the cold steel floor whilst yet more bullets cascaded into the glass wall behind her. She kicked her long legs out instinctively to shake off any splinters of glass that could have fallen onto her Swarovski-embellished Giuseppe Zanotti ankle boots and hastily brushed herself down.

The monochromatic lab was entirely devoid of colour, which highlighted an odd reflection from under the work bench. Anouk spied a glimpse of yellow on the polished floors that had been reflected from the myriad of cables and pipes that were suspended from underneath each bench. Targeting the appropriately labelled yellow pipe that showcased the words "ELDFIMT" and "FLAMMABLE," Anouk deftly sliced it open. Having intentionally released the lab's invisible supply of methane into the room Anoushka returned her aptly named stiletto knife back into the sole of her left boot, secured her grip on the pistol and counted down: три. два. один...

Rolling out from cover, she drew her assailants' fire that prompted her to return three shots with quick succession. None of the armed mercenaries fell but to stay where she was with more and more methane enveloping her by the second would have forced her to endure a fate even worse than being gunned down.

Lead agent Aleksei Orlov smoothly reloaded his Heckler & Koch MP7 with a fresh magazine whilst his comrades laid down suppressing fire. Aiming down the red-dot sight at the enemy operative, he pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation for her beauty and skill, spraying the room with bullets. It was the second of Orlov's three round bursts that ignited the methane, which was insipid in its expansion throughout the room. He only had enough time to note the girl's striking appearance whilst she sprinted away from the flames and her balletic grace, as she took out Ivan, his second-in-command, before being engulfed by the flames.

The heat of the explosion hit Anouk's back, as she took off towards the outside security door. The force of the ignition caused her auburn hair to shield her face temporarily but her vision was restored when she scissor kicked a pistol from the hands of one of the mercenaries who was trying to cut off her escape route. She barely had time to register the dullness in his grey eyes before she pistol whipped him across his temple with her Beretta.

Anoushka scooped up the man's sidearm from the scorched floor and levelled it at the security door. The keypad beside it danced with blue sparks as she emptied the handgun's remaining 8 bullets into the door, the ugly recoil meant that only half of the rounds hit home and enabled her deduce that she was firing a Glock 17 without wasting precious seconds studying the barrel length.

With no other choice, and her survival paramount, she dove head first through the plate glass door, fraying the white collar of her two-tone, Burberry shirt and cutting her right porcelain cheek bone. The Glock was cast to one side, as Anouskha struggled to stand up and surveil the Reykjavik skyline that lay before her. She was on the top of the Einarsson Energies building, Gogol were in hot pursuit and she had to reach the exfil point in less than five minutes or her Division handler, Alex, would be forced to leave without her.


End file.
